


of more delight than hawks and horses be

by moderndaycain



Category: Naruto
Genre: Falconry, M/M, POV Alternating, there are no horses involved but there is a hawk, two idiots bonding over bird stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23174911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moderndaycain/pseuds/moderndaycain
Summary: Nothing was perfect, but the future was looking bright. Maybe things would be alright.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama & Uchiha Madara, Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 14
Kudos: 120





	of more delight than hawks and horses be

Things were… tense. Hashirama _hated_ tense.

He was always trying to lighten the atmosphere of a room, get everyone smiling and having a good time with each other - he had been since he was a child. Hashirama knew war was hard, so the peaceful moments when his friends laughed or smiled were precious to him. But now that the war was over, he was dismayed to find that easing the tension was somehow more difficult than ever. 

He didn’t like to say anything was the Uchihas’ fault, because that would be counterproductive and harsh under their new alliance, but it was at least partially the Uchihas’ fault.

Not that the stone-cold clan were the only ones to blame. There was Tobirama and pretty much everyone else besides Hashirama who were still hostile and distrusting towards them. But he didn’t really blame anyone; after years and years of bloody war between clans, things were never bound to fix themselves in one day.

Or two. Or a week. Or two weeks.

The Senju clan (along with a group of Uzumakis and others who had been their allies) was settling at the base of the great cliff face in what was slowly but surely becoming a new village. The dream Hashirama and Madara had talked about when they were children was finally coming true - their two clans living in harmony (‘harmony’ really just meant ‘not killing each other,’ and even that was a high standard for them) and building the world anew. Houses were already popping up all around the forest clearings and against the rocks. A sort of community center had been constructed near the base of the mountain, where Hashirama and Madara had finalized their agreement and formed the alliance just a few weeks ago. That had been the first time the warring clans had gathered together without the intention of killing each other. It hadn’t been perfect, and although everyone looked just about ready to start drawing weapons, no fights broke out. (Hashirama noticed that even the Uchihas were wary of Madara’s presence as he stalked through the crowds, and wondered if the clan leader had actually needed to threaten the others with punishment if anyone stepped out of line. That made him laugh - it definitely sounded like something Madara would come up with, given his slightly skewed but highly personalized sense of diplomacy.)

That had been a _long_ day. Mostly because even though they spent the entirety of it glued to each other’s sides (for political reasons, of course), things had been awkward and tense between them. Hashirama kept a smile on his face and tried to treat Madara like an old friend, but that was hard when Madara basically spoke only when spoken to, and kept his answers short and to a point. He was a solid wall of ice (ironically) and Hashirama felt lost. Even two weeks later, they still hadn’t really _talked_. They met at least once a day, but ever since the borders of the Uchiha compound had been laid out, Madara (along with the rest of his clan) spent most of their spare time holed up behind their half-constructed homes. (Which Hashirama had offered to help build about 20 times, despite already helping his own clan with their buildings. Madara had politely declined. Prideful bastard.)

Hashirama was dwelling on that as he moved his tea kettle onto the stove. The sun had set a few hours ago, and with September had come chilly, breezy nights. A warm fire and a hot cup of tea was more than welcome. Especially for Hashirama, who woke up with aching joints whenever it frosted overnight. He wondered how Madara and the rest of his clan would fare during the colder months. He found that he was _always_ wondering how Madara was. Tobirama glared at him whenever he was lost in thought (apparently he had a designated Thinking About Madara face), but that had been happening for years now. Maybe he had a problem.

But really, could he be blamed for still wanting the playful banter and easy conversation that they used to have? There wasn’t a day where he didn’t miss it - there hadn’t been since that fateful night when the last thing he saw before his world crashed in around him were Madara’s sunset-red eyes glaring back at him through the trees. He didn’t know why he’d let himself hope that things might be normal again after the alliance was officiated. Things just weren’t the same. Madara was alone and chiseled into something else by the death and destruction he’d fallen into during the war. Hashirama wasn’t the same either, but oh, how he wished that weren’t the case. He was caught up in leading a clan and now a new village, and Madara was too distant to want to try and rekindle their old friendship. Things would never be the same again.

A knock at his door startled Hashirama out of his head, his brows shooting up in surprise. The water for the tea was almost done heating, but he figured anyone who was at his door at 9pm wouldn’t stay long. He readjusted his robes and walked towards the door.

He was expecting Tobirama (even though his brother went to bed earlier than anyone else he knew and maintained a strict sleeping schedule, it wouldn’t have been a surprise with all the political dilemmas they’d been dealing with). He was _not_ expecting Madara, even if there was no one he wanted to see more. 

“Madara? What- what’s going on?” He asked, trying to be as casual as possible. “... Is there anything wrong?”

The shadows around Madara’s eyes deepened. With a sigh, he said, “No. Sort of. I… need your help with something.”

He sounded like it was physically difficult for him to say, but it made Hashirama’s face light up with a grin.

“Yeah, anything you need!” He opened the door a little wider. “I, uhh… I have some tea? Do you want to come in?”

Madara closed his eyes and shook his head. His arms were crossed over his dark blue robes, making him look like he was melting out of the darkness. 

“No, thank you,” he said. “I just wanted to talk to you about -”

He was cut off by the scream of the tea kettle in the kitchen. Hashirama smiled and gestured towards the open door. With another sigh, Madara hesitantly stepped inside.

Hashirama busied himself with preparing the tea, setting two cups down on the table. His mind was dancing with excitement - for once, Madara had _actually_ agreed to spending time with him outside of a meeting. Or at least, he hoped this didn’t have to do with politics. He figured it didn’t, seeing as Madara was obviously embarrassed about asking for help. He was funny like that.

“So, what can I help with?” Hashirama sat down eagerly across from Madara, cradling the warm mug of tea in his hands and grinning.

Madara hesitated, taking in Hashirama’s bubbly eagerness with an awkward glance. “Are you still offering your Mokuton for reconstruction?”

Hashirama blinked. “Of course,” he stated. “Do you need more houses? Name it, and I’ll be glad to help.”

“No, we’re managing just fine on our own,” Madara started. Tension was condensing in his shoulders and the crease of his forehead. “I need wooden bars. Smooth ones, about four feet high. Maybe three dozen.”

Hashirama’s brain redirected. _Bars? What on earth for?_ “Um. Alright. Yeah, I can do that,” he agreed. He _could_ do that, probably in about ten minutes. “When do you need them?”

“As soon as you can. Don’t inconvenience yourself,” Madara said, taking a sip of his tea. It was definitely too hot, but Madara’s tongue was probably scalded enough already from all the katon jutsus he’d used during the war. 

“No problem. I can bring them by tomorrow. Unless you wanted to pick them up?” Hashirama asked tentatively. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was even _allowed_ in the Uchiha compound. “Um. What are they for, by the way? A staircase?”

“No,” Madara said. Some of the tension had eased from his shoulders. “I built a new mews, and I need bars for the windows so I can trap again this year.”

Hashirama had absolutely no idea what any of that meant. 

“Ahahah - what?”

Madara sighed again, but this time with an edge of exasperation instead of regret. “I used to fly hawks when I was a teenager. I stopped because of the war, but now that we’re settled down again… Anyway. I need bars for the windows in the mews.”

Hashirama was… less confused, but still intrigued. And honestly, he’d do anything to keep Madara talking, so he asked, “Why do the windows need bars? And ‘trap’? Do you actually have to grab a wild bird?”

Madara nodded - his expression was easing into something Hashirama was familiar with, something that made his heart soar. They were finally getting somewhere.

“The bars keep the birds from breaking feathers if they fly into them. Ideally they’d be metal, but wood is fine as long as it’s polished well. Normally I’d try to find a hatchling and imprint it, but it’s too late in the season now and I’d rather start off with a bird I can release since I haven’t flown one in a while,” he explained. 

“Really? That’s so cool!” Hashirama was actually quite interested now. He’d heard of people hunting with birds of prey, but he hadn’t known Madara practiced it. “Of course I’ll help you - on one condition.”

Madara’s expression fell, and he scowled again. “... Well?” 

“You have to let me see your bird when you trap one,” Hashirama declared. “And I won’t force you or anything - I don’t actually know anything about this, but uhh. Maybe I could watch you fly it? It sounds really cool. I haven’t seen anything like that since I was a kid.”

Madara blinked, taken aback. He looked at Hashirama with interest, the corners of his mouth upturned in the ghost of a smile. “Oh. Alright,” was all he said, but it sounded more promising than anything he’d said in the last week.

“Awesome!” Hashirama sat up straighter, almost forgetting about his cup of tea and nearly spilling it down his chest. He quickly set it down, trying and failing miserably to be casual. Madara snorted and smirked for just a moment, but Hashirama caught his grin and his own face lit up again.

Maybe things would be alright.

-

Hashirama bounced down the path that led to the Uchiha compound. Well, almost. He tried very hard to control the spring in his step, but only mostly succeeded. Oh well. He was too excited to care if anyone saw him - even if they were a stuck-up Uchiha.

Madara had invited him to his house. _Madara_ had invited _him_. They had been finishing up a meeting when Madara caught his arm on the way out, and carefully told Hashirama that he’d caught a young bird earlier that week, and that Hashirama had made him promise to show him. He couldn’t tell if Madara was happy about that or not - he was probably just keeping his word and wanted to get things over with, but Hashirama didn’t care because _Madara_ was inviting him to his _house_. Sure, the bird part was really cool, but still. He’d thought this would never happen. 

The sun was out that day, not a cloud in the sky. Gray doves cooed and flew from tree to tree as he passed by, approaching the newly-constructed gates with the Uchiha fan painted over them. They were wide open, as usual. He knew the gates were always open to seem welcoming, but they had doors for a reason. It was just a subtle reminder that the clans still harbored some distrust for each other. It wasn’t perfect, but it satisfied Hashirama. He could be patient.

Madara’s house was in the middle of the compound, naturally. Behind it was open woods, but the rest of his clan was settled on the other sides and in front, dirt roads winding between the houses. Hashirama caught the wary gazes of mingling Uchihas, smiling at them brightly. Their community was thriving, and it made Hashirama proud. There were shops set up in the front of the compound that sold food and colorful textiles - in fact, although their preferred attire was generally high-collared robes of dark blues and purples, Uchiha houses were splashed with vibrant reds, oranges, and violets. There were colorful fans hanging in the windows and beautiful (albeit eerie) skeletons painted on banners. It reminded Hashirama of the first time he’d seen a Susanoo - it was Madara’s and he’d nearly been killed watching it rising into the electrified air of the battlefield. It was mystifying and beautiful and _powerful_. He’d have liked to see it again, under better circumstances.

Before he knew it Hashirama found himself in front of Madara’s door. He hesitated before lifting his hand to knock. As it turned out, he didn’t have to - Madara pulled the door open to greet him. Hashirama smiled. 

“Hey,” he said. _Why is this still so awkward?_ “Um. Good morning.”

“...Good morning,” Madara replied. 

They stood in an awkward silence for another long moment. It was digging into Hashirama’s chest like a sword. He rocked back and forth on his feet. Madara stepped forward and closed the door.

“Do you want to see my bird or not?” He asked with exasperation. 

“Oh. Uhh, right. Yes!”

Madara rolled his eyes and stepped out onto the grass, muttering something under his breath that sounded like ‘idiot.’ Hashirama smirked. They walked around the corner of the house and towards the woods behind it. There was a small, shed-sized building parked near Madara’s house with large, wide windows on one side. It had a slanted roof and a door that led into a separate chamber on the left. Hashirama tried to peer through the dark wooden bars while Madara undid the seal on the door. It looked surprisingly intricate for a hawk house.

“Why do you need to lock it so tightly?” He asked.

“Predators, for one,” Madara said, finally pushing the door open. “And anyone who might try to break in and kill my bird.”

“Wait, someone would do that?” Hashirama felt a pang of shock in his chest. “Why would anyone want to kill a bird of prey?”

“Revenge, possibly. I’m not exactly popular,” Madara said. “Or food. But hopefully it won’t come to that.”

He hesitated before stepping inside. “I had a bird when I was younger - a little sparrowhawk. It was a harsh winter, and we were starving. Someone broke into my mews and ate it,” he said, staring at the ground.

Hashirama’s face fell. “Madara, I - I’m really sorry about that,” he said. “I wish you didn’t have to go through that. The famine, the bird - any of it.”

Madara looked up at him with a strange expression again. After a moment, he turned around and walked into the small room, plucking a thick leather gauntlet from a hook on the wall. He slipped it over his left hand and opened the door to his right, entering another chamber. Hashirama followed, eyeing the leather and feathers scattered across the shelves behind him. There was a small vase full of feathers in various conditions and sizes. Ornamental round pieces of… artwork? He wasn’t sure what they were for - sat in rows of colorful leather and feathers on the shelves above. It smelled strongly of something like dust but more… alive. Wild. Madara.

In the second, larger chamber, knotted branches stretched between the corners that faced the window. The floor was dirt, and littered with small gray-brown pellets of fur. A high, sloped ceiling hung above their heads. In the center of the floor near Madara’s feet was a thick metal ring protruding from the ground. A long, thin leather braid was tied tightly to it, leading up to connect to another pair of leather strands that attached to a thin brown bird that was now stepping cautiously onto Madara’s gloved fist from its perch.

Hashirama stared at it in wonder. Leather bands were clasped around it’s small legs, not too tightly, but snug enough that they wouldn’t slip over the widespread feet. The bird’s talons were jet black and wickedly sharp where they were spread over Madara’s fingers. More pieces of leather were drawn through holes in the anklets, and attached to the longer strand with a small metal swivel. On its head, there was a red and black leather covering with large eye patches and an impressive fountain of smaller feathers sprouting from the top. He recognized it as one of the intricate pieces he’d seen on the shelves earlier. The hawk’s body was thin and streaked with dark brown - tension and alertness ran from its small, sharp beak to its long tail. 

“Wow,” Hashirama remarked. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Madara said. Hashirama could see the pride in his eyes. “He’s a first-year goshawk. I caught him on top of the ridge, actually.”

“Really? This is so cool,” Hashirama said, smiling as his eyes trailed down the perfect feathers. “Why does he have that on his head? Is it just decorative?”

“No. The hoods keep them calm - hawks aren’t nocturnal, so the hood simulates the darkness of the night and calms them down. Stress can be very bad for their development,” Madara explained. “But I’ve been working with him for a little over a week now, though. At this point it’ll be good for him to get more human interaction.”

To Hashirama’s surprise, Madara reached in and grabbed one of the knotted leather strands extending from the hood in his teeth, while his free hand pulled quickly on the opposite strand to loosen it. The bird shrugged its head in and shook as the hood fell away, clasped lightly between Madara’s fingers. The goshawk’s yellow eyes were piercing - they darted quickly from one man to the other, and the bird’s small body tensed. He didn’t take off, though, and decided on focusing his sharp gaze on Hashirama. Madara had a firm grasp on the leashes that bound the bird to his glove, and was moving to untie the longest one that was connected to the ring in the ground. 

“Let’s walk,” Madara said. He turned away and started back towards the door. The goshawk’s head darted from one feature of the rooms to another, focused and lively.

Hashirama took a moment before following, partly due to the excitement and wonder coursing through his body, and also because he wasn’t sure that Madara wouldn’t let the bird sink it’s talons into Hashirama’s arm, just for fun.

They stepped outside, Hashirama falling into step with Madara on his right side. He was fascinated by the bird, who was absorbing the environment with its predatory gaze. Madara had a small smile on his face as he looked down at his, holding his fist close to his chest so the bird was pressed against it.

“This is really cool,” Hashirama said. “So he hunts for you?”

“Not really,” Madara replied. “He hunts for himself - he comes when I call him because he recognizes me as a food source. I reward him for good performance and usually collect whatever he catches. I don’t really need to do that anymore, though. Everyone has enough food.”

Hashirama’s face was painted with wonder. It felt _so good_ to listen to Madara talk about something he genuinely enjoyed. His shoulders were more relaxed, and the shadows under his eyes were no longer so prominent.

Just the fact that he could be there in the first place, walking side by side with his oldest friend in times of peace - it made Hashirama want to melt away and sink into that feeling forever. There was no more war, no more bloodshed. They hid the scars they’d given each other (well, Madara did - Hashirama’s healing abilities left his skin mostly unblemished even after the worst of injuries) beneath robes instead of armor. The villagers who had once faced each other on a battlefield were now coexisting slowly and peacefully. Hashirama didn’t have to force himself to be happy anymore. His heart didn’t have to break and rebuild itself every day. The idea of peace was heavenly, but this - what he had at that moment, peace _with_ _Madara_? that was something extraordinary.

“Madara… I’m glad you’re happy,” he said quietly. Hashirama didn’t care if being too open about how he felt pushed Madara away again. He was patient, but he couldn’t keep everything contained.

Madara didn’t look at him, and after a moment Hashirama started to think that he _had_ overstepped a boundary, that even a little bit of friendship was too much too soon. Madara muttered something too quiet for him to hear.

“What?” He folded his hands behind his back and tried to keep them still. The trees on his side of the path started sprouting extra buds as they walked.

“Why?” Asked Madara, a little louder. His brow was creased into something that wasn’t quite a scowl - it seemed more like he was deep in thought.

“Well… well, you were my first best friend,” Hashirama started, his cheeks reddening. “And I care about you. I can tell that you’re happier like this and I’m… I’m glad you have something now that you can enjoy.”

Madara whipped his head around to stare at him. The little hawk on his fist startled at the sudden movement. “Yes, but _why?_ I’ve tried to kill you more times than I can count. I’ve killed your family, and you’ve killed mine. We were at war for _years_ , Hashirama, and that isn’t something you can just turn your back on,” he protested, his voice laced with frustration. “How is it so easy for you to just… _like_ me?”

Hashirama stopped walking. Madara slowed to a stop in front of him as well, holding his gaze. It was probably the most in-depth conversation they’d had in… he didn’t want to think about how long it’d been. Madara’s mouth was pulled into a frown, and his eyes were bitter but lacked the anger and bloodlust he was so used to. Nostalgia washed over Hashirama in waves as he gazed into sad, dark eyes. Without the sharingan, Madara looked tired. Like he belonged to the earth instead of the sun.

Hashirama cleared his throat. “Like I said, Madara. You were my best friend when we were kids, and that never changed. Not even when we fought,” he said. “I know you wanted me to hate you, but I was always just… I don’t know. It made me sad to watch you destroy yourself like that. And I’m so sorry about everything, all the death that came between us. I think that maybe if this is our chance for a brighter future… it wouldn’t be that for me if you were unhappy. That’s why I kept fighting you. I just wanted it all to end, but I didn’t want you to die for it.”

Madara stood in silence, not looking away but shrinking in on himself, pulling the bird closer to his chest. For once his hair was pushed slightly out of his face, and Hashirama could see the turmoil in his deep eyes as he considered his friend’s words. 

“I don’t understand you,” Madara muttered. His voice was like gravel when he didn’t speak clearly, but Hashirama didn’t shy away.

“You understand me better than anyone else.” Hashirama smiled. 

Madara shook his head and sighed in defeat. “If you ever give up on anything, I’ll shave my head,” he grumbled. 

Hashirama laughed, reaching over to lift up a strand of thick hair that had fallen over Madara’s eye. “No you wouldn’t. You’re too proud for that.”

Madara scowled and swatted his hand away, but he didn’t say anything. Hashirama thought he caught the start of a genuine smile as Madara turned and walked past him. He let his hands hang free from where they’d been crossed against his chest and hopped along to fall into step beside him. The hair he’d brushed away earlier had stuck, and through it Hashirama could see a flash of rich red and black.

“Hey… do you have the hood on your ear?”

Madara pinned his hair (or pushed back - even held against his head it was still a few inches thick) to the side and pulled the hood away from where it had been placed around his ear. 

“Yes. I didn’t bring the protector with me. It’s easier than holding it with my only free hand.”

Hashirama laughed at that.

They continued on their walk through the forest, the goshawk bobbing its head as it watched the smaller birds dart through the trees. Maybe things would be alright.

-

It’s _not_ that Hashirama was stalking him. Really, it wasn’t. 

But he’d been out for a walk to clear his head before dawn (after yesterday, when he’d been stuck inside all day drafting letters to other settlements and clans, it was much needed), and he’d seen Madara slink off into a mostly-constructed barn. He was curious, that’s all.

It wasn’t like he didn’t trust Madara, anyway. Even after everything, it was the look in Madara’s eyes when Hashirama almost killed himself (and it scares him, sometimes, to think that he’d actually gone that far; and that he definitely would have gone further) and Madara had reached up and grabbed his arm. For the first time in years, there wasn’t anger in Madara’s eyes, then, and that’s when Hashirama knew that his old friend was still there. 

No, he trusted Madara. _But what on earth is he doing in a half-built barn at 5:30 in the morning?_

Hashirama crept towards the door. He noticed it was closed tightly, but he moved the wooden latch and pushed it open as gently and quietly as he could. He didn’t make a sound as he entered. Despite the peaceful times, he wasn’t an idiot - he still carried shuriken in his robes for safety - and he kept his shoulders squared and his ears open. There was nothing in the darkness ahead of him, which he could barely see through anyway, except for some wooden planks and hay tossed into the corners. Madara was nowhere to be found. Hashirama glanced around the room again - nothing. He was pretty sure it had been Madara he’d seen enter the barn. It was dark, but no one else he knew had four feet of unruly black hair swinging past their shoulders like that.

He was about to turn around and leave when something caught his eye. Hashirama looked up to find half of a loft in the far end of the barn. Two pinpricks of red were slowly catwalking down a beam towards the rafters of the building. They were sunset-red, and glowed in the darkness. 

“Madara?” He called quietly. The eyes flicked down to land on him. 

“ _Shhh.”_ Madara held out a hand, signaling him to stay still. Hashirama noticed his other hand was holding a scrap of dark fabric.

Hashirama watched in bewilderment as Madara slowly crept along the beam, one foot placed carefully in front of the other. He was poised like a snake about to strike its prey. _What in the world…?_

Suddenly, after pausing for a moment, Madara _did_ spring. He lashed out with his arms, holding the fabric between them, against the beam near his feet. Hashirama heard the flap of several pairs of wings and watched as three pigeons took off out the window. Madara was standing, almost in the moonlight shining through the tall barn door-window. He held the fabric piece in one hand, where it writhed in place. He held it up and looked at it, before deciding he was satisfied and jumped down in front of Hashirama.

“ _What_ ,” started Hashirama. “Are you doing.”

“Um.” Madara held up the bag. “Catching pigeons.”

Hashirama snorted. “Wait, what? At 5:30 in the morning?”

“You try catching a pigeon in the daylight,” Madara grumbled. “It’s for my bird.”

“Ohhh…” Hashirama crossed his arms and put his hand in his chin. This was too amusing to be awkward. “That’s really cool. But… pigeons? At 5:30? … In a barn?”

He could see Madara glaring at him in the half light. “Yes,” he deadpanned. 

Awkward silence stretched between them again. Madara didn’t move from where he stood only a short distance from Hashirama in the dark, and even with the sharingan deactivated his eyes seemed to glow in the pale light of the early morning. _Now what?_ Hashirama wondered. _Can we have a normal conversation? Can we ever do that again, or is this how it’s going to be now?_

“Madara,” he began, “I don’t want us to keep avoiding each other. I won’t force you to be my friend again, but…”

There was a shift in Madara’s tensed stance, and the bag in his hand flapped a little in protest. He didn’t meet Hashirama’s gaze. After a few moments of painful silence, Hashirama was about to turn and leave when Madara finally responded, quietly and hesitantly.

“I’m… sorry,” he said. “This isn’t something I can just get used to. I’m not like you Hashirama - we’ve been at war our entire lives.”

“But we _ended_ it, Madara,” Hashirama protested. “We formed the alliance, and now we have this village. When has this ever happened before? We did what no one else could. This is a change that we both fostered, and I would hate if it ended in just the signing of documents. I want -“

“I wasn’t finished,” Madara interrupted. “I meant… it’s harder for me. My clan doesn’t exactly like me. I have no family left. But.”

He paused, something conflicted passing over his face. Hashirama’s grimace had eased into a look of sorrow as he watched his friend, taking in the sadness and tension that radiated from him like heat from a fire.

“... Maybe we can grab a drink sometime,” he finally finished. “Nothing political. Just… talking.”

Hashirama didn’t care if the response was quiet and strained. That was just Madara being Madara. And that was all he’d wanted anyway. His frown broke into a bright smile again. 

“That sounds great, actually.” It was a slow start, but he could be patient. 

Madara’s face twitched in the darkness, the corners of his lips turning upwards into a shaking grin. It looked… _almost_ forced, and for now that was good enough for Hashirama. It was only 5:30, after all.

“Um. You still didn’t explain to me what exactly the pigeon was for,” Hashirama said as Madara strolled back towards the door. 

“Oh. Hunting practice for my bird,” he replied. “So he learns how to hunt normally with my intervention.”

“Right… Does that hurt it? So it’s easier to catch…?” He gestured at the bagged bird.

“Oh, no. It’s fine. It’s just easier to hold a pigeon in a bag than with bare hands,” said Madara. 

Hashirama nodded and smiled, following him out the barn doors. Dawn was just breaking over the horizon, painting some of the clouds a dusty pink. Almost the color of Madara’s sharingan - Hashirama had always thought they looked more like the red-orange of the sunset, but dawn was close enough. He realized that this was the first time he’d seen them without being hand-in-hand in some bloody combat against his friend. 

Maybe things would be alright.

-

The cold air felt amazing where it bit against the tips of his fingers, the end of his nose. Madara stood for a moment on the woodland path and just breathed in deeply, exhaling a cloud of warm air. For once, he didn’t hate the winter.

He’d been worried, that October, before the first signs of snow. Worried that there wasn’t enough food, that people in his clan would die again and there was nothing that he could do about it. But… the alliance with Hashirama, the end of the war? It was like the sun had finally appeared from behind storm clouds he’d never known were there. (And there were _so many moments_ where he hated himself more than anything for not accepting the alliance sooner, for putting his clan through that onslaught of death and vengeance, and then hated himself some more for thinking that and then actually accepting the ceasefire because that wasn’t what Izuna would have wanted - and that’s as far as he ever let his brain take that thought. He knew one day it would all just come bursting out in waves of pain if he bottled it up, but that wasn’t something he wanted to worry about now.)

As it turned out, the reason the Senju clan (with the exception of Hashirama) had always done better through the winters was because they were gardeners. Not all of them, but more than enough to stock food that would last the season. Of course, now that the Uchihas and other clans had joined their village, there were fewer vegetables to go around, but another thing that they’d discovered was that when they didn’t have to worry about sending the best warriors out to the battlefield, the Uchiha clan was very adept at hunting. The sharingan was as brilliant for stealth and archery as it was for close-range combat. So yes, there was more than enough food to go around. It was relieving. 

Madara continued through the snowy path, only stopping once or twice to listen for the clear ring of hawking bells above his head. His goshawk darted through the trees above him, keen and alert.

Hashirama was somewhere off to his right, making as much noise as humanly possible. Which was fine. They weren’t after deer - they wanted the small things to come out into the open, and that sometimes meant being disruptive. (Maybe not _as_ disruptive as Hashirama was being as he _whacked_ another tree with his staff, but Madara was thoroughly enjoying the sight.) Honestly, he wasn’t even sure why Hashirama was out there. Hashirama hated winter - it made him slow and grumpy (at least, by Hashirama standards). Uzumaki Mito said it was because of the Mokuton, and he figured she was right. Hashirama had grumbled something about it not being true, but he wasn’t very convincing. 

_Wow_ , he thought. He’d actually been out for drinks with Hashirama and Mito. _An Uchiha, a Senju, and an Uzumaki walk into a bar. Last year I almost punched someone for making that joke. Guess I owe them money._ Everything was so surreal. Madara sometimes thought it was all just a dream, and if he went to sleep he’d wake up in a tent with the smell of blood wafting through the air. He didn’t get much sleep.

He hadn’t offered to take Hashirama out hunting. Hashirama had asked, but with his puppy-dog eyes it was essentially a demand. Madara didn’t want to say no, but he’d dreaded actually having to do it for the longest time. But now that they were out there, he didn’t regret his decision. 

He’d been so lost in thought, watching Hashirama brutally assault a pile of rocks with a big stick, that his bird had ended up a few too many trees away for his liking. He blew the sharp whistle around his neck and held out a tidbit of squirrel on his fist. It was an amazing sight, to watch a hawk dive from the trees and ride the air as if it were a river, landing with a _thwack_ on his fist. He felt the strong grip of its talons through the leather gauntlet. It ached and would probably give him bruises eventually, but it was a good feeling.

“What are we looking for again?”

“Squirrels, chipmunks, small birds,” Madara called back, boosting his hawk up into the branches above them. “Anything he can chase at this time of year.”

“Okay. I’ve been hitting trees and stuff for 15 minutes and I haven’t seen anything,” Hashirama complained. He was bundled up to his nose in warm clothes, even though the snow wasn’t that deep.

“Move around a bit,” Madara told him. Then quietly, to himself, “Who knows, you might have killed them already, stomping around like that.”

Hashirama crashed through another bush, swearing as the brambles snagged in his hair. Madara chuckled.

_Hmmm. Brush piles that big might mean… ahah. There you are._ Scanning the ground, he found sets of tracks leading off the trail - small, and then long. Rabbit. He hadn’t expected to see any hares out there in the woods, but the trees were further apart in this area and dotted with piles of brush. The tracks he was following led into a particularly large pile of pine boughs and branches.

“Hashirama!” He called. “Get over here and beat up this bush.”

Hashirama stumbled back out towards him, stopping to stand at his side. “Why? Rabbits?”

“Yeah. I figure they’re holed up in there. The warren’s probably somewhere underneath, so you might have to really go for it this time.” Madara smirked. Above him, the jingle of bells indicated that his hawk was watching them closely.

Brandishing his staff, Hashirama began to pace around the bush, getting as close as he could and jabbing at it harshly. Madara stalked around the other side, doing the same with his own walking stick. There were tracks leading in and out, but so far no other signs of any -

“ _RABBIT!”_ Hashirama shouted. Madara looked up just in time to see his friend literally hurl himself headfirst into the brush pile. At least three rabbits scattered out from under him, and the goshawk shot after them with a burst of speed. Madara figured he should go after it, but he was doubled over laughing too hard to move anywhere. Hashirama was still flailing in the brambles, thoroughly tangled. His head appeared from beneath a pine branch, and he scowled at Madara. He eventually managed to worm his way out, his wool coat covered in sticks and burs. Madara was still snickering as he jogged past Hashirama in the direction his bird had given chase.

The hawk was on the ground standing over a rabbit by the time Madara had calmed down and reached it. It’s wings and tail were fanned out, the feathers on the back of its head slicked down until they stuck out behind it. Madara approached slowly, bending down to grab one of the jesses. The bird looked at him curiously.

Hashirama approached quietly behind him. He circled around until he could see Madara’s hand moving carefully to hook the swivel through the small hole in the jess, clasping the bird to his fist. Once he was done and the hawk was secure, Madara sat back with his legs spread. The bird dragged its quarry over to eat between the falconer’s knees, safe from harm. Rabbit fur stuck to his pants where the goshawk shook it away. Hashirama was leaning against a nearby tree, watching the scene in awe.

“You know, you didn’t need to laugh at me,” he grumbled.

Madara barked another laugh. “Yes, I think I did. What the _hell_ did you think you’d accomplish by tackling a fucking rabbit? You looked ridiculous.”

Hashirama blushed and looked away. Maybe it was just the cold. “I don’t know, I’m not the falconer,” he remarked. “Hey, at least I flushed it.”

“You flushed three, actually. I think you crushed their home.”

“You should be thanking me,” Hashirama teased. 

A sharp _crack_ interrupted them. Madara watched his bird flick bits of brain matter from his beak. 

“This might take a while. You can go back if you want,” Madara said.

“No,” replied Hashirama. “I mean. Unless you want me to?”

“Uhh…” Madara scanned his friend’s face. Hashirama looked cold and tired, but also content. “No. I don’t.”

Hashirama smiled - Madara thought it might be warm enough to melt the snow. 

“Great! Can I sit with you?” 

Madara blinked. No one ever asked him that. Only Hashirama. There were too many things that were Only Hashirama. He’d thought that was a dangerous weakness before, but now he wasn’t certain.

“Sure,” Madara replied, gesturing at the ground behind his right shoulder, Hashirama moved around him, slowly so as not to disturb the hawk. He sat with his spine arched forward like Madara, facing the other direction. His head was craned back to stare up at the trees. Madara watched him quietly out of the corner of his eye.

“I miss spring,” Hashirama lamented. “And summer. I miss the sun.”

“The sun’s still there,” Madara reminded him. 

“I _know_ that. What I meant is I wish it were warm again,” Hashirama retorted, turning to glance at him. “Hunting in the snow is fun and all, but I’m cold.”

“Then go back? You’re the one who wanted to stay out here.”

“I don’t want to go back,” Hashirama said. He looked away. “I like… doing things. With you. It makes me feel like a kid again. Like none of the bad stuff happened.”

Madara flexed his fingers around the bird’s leash. It was still eating away at the rabbit between his legs. He stared at the ground.

“Are you happy, Madara?”

The question caught him off guard. _Again. Only Hashirama._ Madara didn’t know how to respond. Nobody had asked him that and genuinely meant it in such a long time. (Tobirama had yelled it, in one of the last bloody battles. _“Are you happy now, Uchiha?”_ His face was stained with blood and he was dragging someone’s body off the field.) It… took him a minute to actually consider the question. Was he? Could he remember what happiness was? During the war, he’d imagined the light at the end of the tunnel, but it was never something he could reach. That was his problem. He’d been so caught up in thinking that avenging Izuna or being with his brother again was happiness, he’d failed to realize that it was far more than that. He saw that now.

_Hashirama_ was happiness. Peace.

But was _Madara_ happy? He still hated himself on the best of days. He was still angry and bitter at everything and everyone. Everyone except Hashirama. Hashirama, who wanted nothing more than to spend time with him. Who looked at Madara like he was the sun.

“I don’t know,” Madara finally said. “But… I think… almost.”

Hashirama leaned back, resting his weight against Madara’s shoulders. It felt better than anything had in a long time. 

“Can I do anything to make it better?”

Madara sighed, leaning into Hashirama. “I think you already are.”

He couldn’t see Hashirama smile, but he knew it was there as he watched a tiny white flower peak through the snow near his boot. (On their way back, Madara discreetly pocketed it and brought it home. He put it in a small vase in his kitchen window. A little drop of springtime.)

“You know, you’re really warm,” Hashirama said. “Must be because you’re so hot-headed.”

Madara rolled his eyes with a smirk. Maybe things would be alright.

-

Hashirama was hunched over yet another stack of papers - letters from the new Suna settlement. He rubbed his temples and sighed, reaching for his mug of tea. Madara was sat across from him, pouring over his own set of documents. The other man looked up and sighed as well, running a hand through his hair. They were sitting in Hashirama’s study - it had been a mutual decision to discreetly move all of their paperwork from the community-centric main building to Hashirama’s house after Madara had pointed out that they were getting _nothing_ done with everyone else bustling around them. 

_That_ had been a spectacle. Hashirama and Madara, creeping through the village in the dead of night, trying not to trip over each other and see past the massive piles of scrolls in their arms. Madara had taken the lead with his eternal sharingan, and Hashirama kept stepping on his robes from behind him. ( _“For_ fuck’s _sakes, Hashirama, you’re the best fucking ninja in this village, stop walking into me on purpose!” “Shh, shh - you’re gonna wake someone up, heheh.”_ ) When they eventually made it back to the house and dumped everything in the study, Madara had stayed for tea and Tobirama had actually stopped by to make sure everything was alright. Apparently they _had_ woken someone up. Hashirama thought the whole thing was thoroughly amusing.

Speaking of which, Tobirama had been seen less and less lately. Even though Hashirama was _technically_ the village leader (not officially, but his little brother was working very hard to make that happen), Tobirama handled at least half of the political aspects of that position. Madara was supposed to be his advisor, but Hashirama could tell that neither of them were about to stop Tobirama from picking up the nasty boring pieces of the arrangement they didn’t want to touch. His little brother was a bit of a micro-manager, and it was best to just let him be.

But now Hashirama rarely saw _him_ outside of a political setting - with Madara lingering in his house and spending more time with him, Hashirama caught icy glares from his brother more often than not. Tobirama… still hated Madara. Still hated most of the Uchihas. Despite Hashirama’s assurances, he’d never trusted them. _Especially_ Madara, and Madara was well aware of that. The two of them would stare each other down with their hands resting on their weapons through meetings and it gave Hashirama _such_ a headache. 

This was one of the few days where all three of them were willingly in the same building. Tobirama lived across from Hashirama (he liked the peace and quiet, apparently), but still visited frequently. He was somewhere off near the kitchen, busying himself with something. He’d said he was only there to quickly stop by when he’d seen Madara, but Hashirama could tell he’d wanted to visit. Oh well - they had work to do anyway. Tobirama could wait.

“It sounds like we might have started an avalanche,” Hashirama hummed. “Other villages have started to pop up. Suna’s already got a larger settlement forming.”

“Mm.” Madara didn’t look up from the papers he was sorting through. “Everyone’s tired. It’s not surprising. You were just the first one who wasn’t proud enough to keep fighting.”

“Hey,” Hashirama chided. “I’m proud. Maybe not as much as you, but still. And that’s not why I stopped fighting. I _was_ tired.”

“So you were just getting lazy, then?” Madara glances up at him with a smirk. “What, Mokuton making you feel old?”

Hashirama scowled at him, but there was no bite to it. “You don’t get to tell me that. There were at least two years where my spies sent back reports of you walking around your camp in _glasses_. Don’t call me old, you were blind as a bat.”

Madara growled at that. “I can still see better than you,” he said. 

Hashirama smiled at him. It was always fun to poke at Madara’s pride - the Uchihas had always been a proud bunch, and there was nothing they valued more than their strong eyesight. If Hashirama wasn’t careful, he could get another lecture on how great and superior the sharingan was. Not that he wasn’t happy to listen, but really, they had work to do. 

Suddenly, a crash came from the direction of the kitchen. “ACK- _Hashirama!_ ” Tobirama cursed, and there was the sound of metal clinking against the floor.

“Is everything alright?” Hashirama glanced warily at Madara, and sat up a little straighter, peering towards the other room.

A moment later, Tobirama came storming out, something white dangling from his fist. “ _Why_ is there a half-gutted rabbit in your refrigerator.”

Madara snorted. He was turned away from Tobirama, and Hashirama glared at him half-heartedly. He snickered again.

“That’s Madara’s. He needed to thaw it for the goshawk,” Hashirama said, trying to hold back his own giggling. Tobirama looked very funny, standing in the doorway with a deep scowl and a limp rabbit in one hand

“Why is it in _your_ kitchen?”

“I don’t know, Madara, why is it in my kitchen?” Hashirama smiled playfully.

“Sorry about that. I forgot to bring it back with me last time,” he replied. Tobirama was fuming.

“ _Please_ ,” his little brother hissed. “Please don’t put dead rabbits in the refrigerator face-up.”

He stormed back out of the room, and after a minute they heard the sound of the front door slamming shut. That was all it took for both of them to dissolve into amused snickering.

“Your brother, the _warrior_ , gets scared of a dead rabbit?”

“It surprised him,” Hashirama defended, but he was still laughing. “It’s a little unnerving, just sitting in the fridge like that. Or on the counter. Or in the bathroom. You know you left a quail in there last week?”

Madara laughed again, running a hand over his face and brushing back his bangs. “Sorry about that then.”

Hashirama waved it off, shaking his head. It was weird, but he didn’t really mind Madara invading his life with his falconry habits. Or really any habits at all - he’d already brought his own mug and a couple blankets that had taken up permanent residence in Hashirama’s house, he was over so often. Hashirama loved it. 

After they’d calmed down, they each went back to their work. Hashirama reminded himself to apologize to his brother, even though the whole exchange _had_ been pretty funny. (Who knew Tobirama could yelp that loudly?) Tobirama would forgive him, but he wasn’t so sure about Madara. Ah, well - that was a whole other fish to fry. 

Madara was doing much better, though. It was nearing the end of winter, and it seemed like making it through without needing to worry about famine or war lifted a great weight off his shoulders. It had been a relief for everyone, but Hashirama understood the toll it could take on a clan leader. Especially for someone like Madara, who was so proud and determined that he’d do anything to defend his clan. It made Hashirama sad to think that the Uchihas still treated Madara so coldly - they didn’t trust him. Hashirama wondered if he was the only one who did. It was one of the many reasons that he stuck to his friend’s side so tightly. He knew that if he didn’t, he might never be able to pull Madara out of whatever dark sea he’d fall into.

But peace was treating both of them very well, and they even looked healthier than they’d been in _years_. Hashirama’s hair wasn’t constantly tangling and he wasn’t waking up sore from the previous day’s fights. He wasn’t as tired as he used to be, but overusing his chakra so much had still taken a toll on him. Madara was faring similarly well - the dark circles under his eyes were receding (although Hashirama was starting to wonder if they were just a permanent feature, and therefore not a good scale to measure on) and his hair didn’t look as messy. It was still a voluminous mane of chaos draping down his back, but it looked less course and matted now. 

It was nice to wake up to a village full of bright-eyed healthy shinobi. Full of life.

Nothing was perfect, but the future was looking bright. Maybe things would be alright.

-

“Are you ready?”

Madara saw Hashirama glance over at him out of the corner of his eye. The wind on top of the ridge pushed his bangs into his eye, but he didn’t care. It was nice out.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m not sad, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“But you’ve been with him for so long. _I’m_ sad that you’re letting him go,” Hashirama pouted. Madara rolled his eyes.

“It’s not sad,” he sighed. He flexed his wrist, feeling the comforting balance of the goshawk on his glove. It was hooded and calm, it’s crop full from the previous day’s meal. 

Hashirama made a noise of disappointment. Madara glanced sideways at him and raised an eyebrow. _Of course he’s getting sad over this. He’s Hashirama._ The thought left him with a warm feeling in his heart. 

“Think of it this way,” he said. “For birds, the hardest part of their lives is the beginning. If they can make it through that, they’ll be fine.”

Hashirama nodded, hanging onto his words. He was always so interested in whatever Madara had to say, especially if it was falconry-related.

“I fed this bird every day and exercised it, so now that I’m releasing him he’ll be stronger than most of the wild birds his age anyway. He’s still wild, so he’ll be fine on his own,” Madara explained. “Releasing him is a good thing. I feel like I’m doing something good.”

And it _did_ feel good - after everything that had happened in the last year, Madara hadn’t realized how much he needed this. To set a bird free, to feel like he’d truly helped something and done the world a service. For once, he didn’t feel guilty about that validation.

“Well when you say it like that, I guess it doesn’t sound as sad,” Hashirama said quietly. “I’ll miss him though.”

“Yeah.” Madara brushed a finger over the goshawk’s breast. “Me too.”

Hashirama leaned in and stroked the bird’s chest, his finger trailing down over soft feathers to rest lightly against Madara’s. It was a different kind of intimate - something no one else could have. That made Madara… conflicted. Hashirama was something amazing, something he wanted to protect, but also something he could lose. It made him excited and nervous all at once.

“Are you going to get another one?”

He thought for a moment. Spring had come early this year - it was only March, but the snow had already melted away completely, revealing green leaf buds and small flowers. “Yes. I think I’ll take an eyas this spring and imprint it.”

Hashirama’s face lit up. It was exhilarating. “Really? That’s awesome! Are the babies easier to work with?”

Madara laughed at that. “ _No_. Goshawks are a handful no matter where they’re from, but an imprint can be a real piece of work if it’s not manned properly.”

Hashirama nodded along, but didn’t ask questions. He’d be there to see it all anyway. (That was something else that left his heart in shambles - the idea of a future with Hashirama, minus the fighting. Oh, to think that less than a year ago he’d been trying to murder his friend. It felt nice to step back, to try something new. Something peaceful.) They stared out over the cliff face. It overlooked the growing village below, and Madara could see the small figures darting about between buildings. With his sharingan he could spot a songbird sitting on the tree behind the bakery far below - but sometimes it was nicer to look at everything from a distance. At his side, Hashirama shifted.

“So. What do you want me to do?”

Madara moved to face him again. “Wrap your hands around his wings and make sure they’re contained. Be firm, but don’t squeeze too tightly. Use your fingers to hold his legs up while I take these off,” he explained. “Be quick when you grab him or he’ll bate.”

Hashirama nodded, biting his lip. He lifted and moved his hands around to frame the hooded bird’s small form, before taking a deep breath and grabbing it by the sides. The hawk tensed and clenched its talons, flattening its feathers against its small body. Carefully, Madara picked the talons off his glove and let the jesses go slack as he pulled out his shears. Hashirama did as instructed and held the bird against his chest. 

Madara leaned in, and as carefully as he could, began to slide the scissors through the anklets and bewits. Hashirama had been _very_ excited to help him set the bird free, but now he was calm and collected while he watched Madara work. It was only a few seconds before the bird’s equipment fell away, and Madara reached down to untie the leash from his glove. He shoved the leather scraps into his pockets, smiling at the muted jingle of the detached bells. He looked up at Hashirama, whose gaze was drifting from the bird to Madara and back again. They were only inches apart, and (not for the first time) Madara found that he really, really wanted to kiss him. 

It was all too confusing.

Instead, he held out his gloved hand as Hashirama placed the bird gently back on. When it had clenched its talons around Madara’s wrist he let it go, it’s wings flapping as it adjusted itself. Madara reached into another pocket and pulled out a chunk of quail, which he set on the end of his glove. Stepping a few feet away, he leaned in to draw the braces on the hood and pull it off. The hawk’s eyes lit up, and it leaned down to tear at the food on his fist. Madara stepped back towards Hashirama and they watched the bird eat in silence, enjoying the breeze and clear skies. They didn’t say anything to each other, but the silence was no longer awkward and tense. 

The hawk finished its meal and feaked against Madara’s wrist, thankfully missing the fabric of his sleeve. It sat contently on his arm, so used to him and Hashirama that it had no desire to take off. It was a good bird. After they took in its feathers and piercing eyes one last time, their own silent ‘goodbye,’ Madara lifted his arm and thrust his wrist into the air. The bird pushed off, flapping its wings and rising into the sky. It settled in an easy soar over the valley, riding the updrafts and basking in the sun. The soft browns and creamy colors shown richly under the sun’s rays.

Hashirama sighed. Madara reverted his gaze from the skies, where the goshawk was becoming a distant speck on the horizon, and looked over at him. His dark eyes were closed and he had a small smile on his face. Madara grinned as well as he took in the sight. Hashirama’s smiles were always warmer than the sun. 

“I see what you mean now,” Hashirama said, opening his eyes to meet Madara’s gaze. “That wasn’t sad. It felt nice. Promising, almost. I can’t explain it.”

“‘ _Promising_.’ I like that,” Madara quietly agreed.

They stayed on top of the ridge for what might have been hours after that, taking in the warm sunlight and good weather. Sitting on the rocks on top of the mountain was calming and serene - something Madara had never thought he’d feel again, for the longest time. Hashirama only interrupted their content silence to point out an interesting cloud or leaf that blew across the sky above them. Madara was happy. 

Eventually they agreed to return to the village and catch up on all the work they’d been missing. Birds chirped in the trees around them as they strolled down the mountain. About halfway down, as their fingers brushed again, Madara slid his hand into Hashirama’s. Neither of them said anything, and that was fine. 

-

They’d returned to the village after releasing Madara’s hawk to find more paperwork, of course - but they only spent a few hours in Hashirama’s study before Madara suggested going to a tavern instead. 

“This calls for at least a little celebration,” he’d said. Hashirama happily agreed.

The two of them had spent the rest of the night drinking and laughing at each other - Mito had joined them at one point and Hashirama had tried to get Tobirama to tag along, but was unsuccessful. That was fine. Madara felt warm and happy inside, and he knew it wasn’t just the alcohol. The night air was crisp and clear by the time they left the tavern and started walking home under the stars. Hashirama was pointing out constellations as they neared his door - Madara followed him inside, more out of habit than anything else. Hashirama looked at him like he held the world in his eyes, and it made Madara’s heart melt. They didn’t need to say anything yet - that could wait until morning.

Madara laced his arms around Hashirama and swung him through the rooms of the house, dancing with as much precision as either of them could manage. They were both drunk, but it was fine. (Neither of them regretted it.) No one led the waltz into Hashirama’s bedroom, but that’s still where they ended up. Hashirama yanked Madara down onto the mattress and snaked his arms around his chest. He buried his face in Madara’s hair and sighed. Madara leaned into Hashirama and reached up to intertwine their hands. He huffed a small laugh, jostling Hashirama where he was pressed against his back. If anyone found out that Uchiha Madara was the little spoon, he might have to dig out his gunbai from where it was collecting dust in the corner of his house. Not that it mattered now.

In the warmth of each other’s embrace, sleep came too quickly. Madara’s eyes drifted closed, and he sighed in contentment. Before he fell into a dreamless slumber, he felt Hashirama’s hand lightly squeeze his own. There was a shift in his hair, and soft kisses were pressed against his shoulder. He smiled.

Things would be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> fun facts! i didn’t do any research for this whatsoever - i'm actually a falconer myself, so this was really just an excuse to write about that FASCINATING SPORT (and also just something sappy) in these trying times.
> 
> a few of the scenes were actually derived from my own experiences. madara sneaking around a barn before dawn to kidnap a pigeon was something suggested to me a while back that i found pretty amusing. hashirama screaming and diving headfirst after a rabbit is something i did a few times last year - the other falconers made fun of me for that, ahah. tobirama finding part of a rabbit in his brother's refrigerator is something that happens regularly in my house, and sometimes it's funny to watch people discover that when they're not used to it. (i’m sorry it’s just how we are rip)
> 
> i'm actually releasing my bird (a red tailed hawk) within the next week, so this was really enjoyable to write. if you don't know much about falconry i'd encourage doing some research if you have the time (you're reading this, so i know you do), it's a really amazing sport with a lot of history. (that said, i feel obligated to tack on a DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME warning. seriously. maybe you learned something, but do some research first)
> 
> the title is actually a line from shakespeare's sonnet 91, which talks about love existing above pride yet still being something fragile.


End file.
